Page 17 of Wicked Court

And I have no idea why they’ve honed in on me. This is after two years of being who I dubbed the Untouchable Four, always lounging in the background on campus with obvious disinterest in college academics and school spirit—a trait which I’m known for. Not because they can’t excel. Each of them has a stellar GPA and they’re set to take over the world after they graduate.

It’s true they’re the most gorgeous, emotionless, and oddly fearsome men at TFU, and for that reason, I’ve avoided them.

A few women in my friend circle have hooked up with one or more of them, and while many make it a goal (or a ceremonial wish to the witches), a lot come out of it withdrawn, untalkative, and with an abject refusal to engage in the gossip they were so willing to take part in before they slept with these guys.

Fast-forward to now, when they’ve decided teasing and torturing me is their new entertainment. I don’t like being singled out by them.

Under Sasha’s watchful eye, I dig through my closet until I find it—a box filled with jewelry pieces I never wear because they’re all gaudy, expensive, and inherited from my grandmother.

I yank the box out and dump it on my bed, knocking a pile of dirty laundry onto the floor. Sasha tuts from her bed.

“So…” She drawls while I pick through the pile looking for a necklace I haven’t worn in a while, a simple gold chain belonging to my brother. “You still doing good over there?”

I hear her rise and grab her bag, thankful she’s decided to leave. I’ve never been so thrown off my routine before and I hate that there’s a witness.

When I find the necklace, I’m distracted by something tangled with it. I pull the chunky, scratched thing from the pile and hold it up to the light.

A misshapen ruby embedded into a pendant, delicately carved like an old-as-fuck kingdom seal. The metal of the pendant is dark, possibly crafted from blackened silver or gunmetal, the choice complementing the deep red of the ruby.

Gram whispered it was a family heirloom, handed down only to those considered ‘worthy.’ Subtle engravings decorate the metal, hinting at ancient symbols.

“Hey, what’s that?”

I fist the necklace, spinning to Sasha. “Nothing. Just something my grandma gifted me.”

“It’s … pretty?”

I respond with an amused smirk. “It’s evil-looking. You can say it.”

“Well, yeah, but you know how I feel about Titan Falls lore and all the witchy stuff that comes with it. Still crossing my fingers that my multiple wishes come true, greedy bitch that I am.”

There it is again. The mention of magic curing all ills in life. The desire for some unseen special power that can fix everyone’s problem.

I toss the chunk of metal onto my bed. There’s no wizardry that can fix tragedy in a person’s life. It’s an illusion. A con.

“It’s bullshit,” I mutter.

If it were true, my brother would be alive. My mother could prevail over her crippling paranoia.

“Well, babe, have a good time with that skeptic mentality,” she chirps, dimples flashing as she leaves the room.

Alone with my thoughts, I can’t shake the sudden desperation to know more about the necklace. The only “witchy-looking” thing I own, to be honest. Why do those boys keep referring to me as a damned witch?

My mother disappeared in grief after Maverick’s funeral, his murder breeding her agoraphobia, but Gram was always ready to help.

I decide to skip psychology and call her, even though we don’t talk much anymore.

The phone rings once before she picks up.

“I’m not here,” her voice rasps into my ear.

“Hi, Gram,” I say, trying to keep my tone light.

Silence. Then a gasp. “Oh! Darling! How are you?”

It’s been months since we last spoke, and hearing the concern in her tone sends flashbacks of when we found out about Maverick.

“I’m fine.” Swallowing against the lump forming in my throat, I hurry on. “I was wondering if I could ask you about an old necklace you gave me.”

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